


Silver Hair (Glows in the Darkness)

by Ellie68, itsLeviOsaNotLeviosAR



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Creature Fic, Creature Trafficking Ring, F/F, F/M, Fighting, Human Trafficking, M/M, Mages, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Multi, Veela Severus Snape, Violence, mage senses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-01-20 20:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18532879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie68/pseuds/Ellie68, https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsLeviOsaNotLeviosAR/pseuds/itsLeviOsaNotLeviosAR
Summary: When Harry and his friends finally seem to get their lives together, Harry gets a rather troubling case that will throw their lives upside down once again – a creature trafficking ring. And what has this all got to do with Severus Snape?





	1. The Alleyway.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deafingknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deafingknight/gifts).



> Chapter 1 has been edited and added to so you might want to read it again. You’ll be in for a surprise! 
> 
> For Deafingknight, who made the suggestion for this plot. 
> 
> (Warning - boring disclaimer: We don't own Harry Potter, that honour lies with JK Rowling.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry and his friends finally seem to get their lives together, Harry gets a rather troubling case that will throw their lives upside down once again – a creature trafficking ring. And what has this all got to do with Severus Snape?

Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

It had only been a year since he joined the Auror Corps but he already felt like quitting, he could afford to and Merlin knows Kreacher would take great pleasure ordering him around - he’d never be without something to do. The war had left him with a desire to be busy though and he wouldn’t enjoy having that much free time, there was a restless energy in him that longed to throw itself at challenges: for the thrill and the satisfaction.Despite the long hours, the paperwork, the ache in his bones, the bruises from throwing himself out of the way of a curse and the uncomfortable schmoozing of the political elite.Despite all that, he couldn’t resist the feeling of satisfaction, of pushing himself, of warm pleasure tingling down his spine when he managed to help someone and they saw him as Harry, not just the Boy Who Lived, but Harry. What did Hermione call it?

Oh.

Right.

His–

“Hero complex”.

It was more than that to him however.He was adamant that he was not going to resign: was it his fault that after his life he just wanted to help people, bring to someone else that spark of happiness, the knowledge that someone cared?It was all he’d wanted at the Dursley’s, for someone to notice his existence and care that he was troubled.It was the true reason he couldn’t leave the Aurors, Ron had once called him a "bloody masochist” for putting his life on the line for others virtually every day, but Harry was certain that was an overstatement.He just needed to show his world that there was still magic in the air, that the Auror Corps, failing in standards and lacking respect for the people could still solve those problems, still bring peace.Even the raids weren’t (usually) dangerous, with a team for support and the might of the ministry on his side, it was never comparable to the fear that haunted his life when Voldemort was still alive. And anyway, the raids were far better than the alternative: the seemingly endless pile of paperwork that grew every time he turned his back on it. He and the others on duty had already resigned themselves to watching hiding places for hours on end until the coast was clear: always in a tight, uncomfortable spot which he inevitably left with a crick in his neck and a dull pain in his knees.It was mostly boring work, but just occasionally there were moments, a parent’s eyes lighting up on being reunited with their child, the relief at the return of a precious family heirloom, the individual stories and the sense that for all the isolation his celebrity status brought him, he was never truly alone in the world. 

He groaned and looked down at the dreaded pile that he’d almost (but not quite) fallen asleep on.Philosophical thoughts aside, like many jobs being an Auror had major cons.It was Malfoy that had taught him to put aside his need to fight and appreciate the value of political connections and power, that wouldn’t stop him from frowning every time he set eyes on the dreaded admin though.He glanced over the top few sheets balanced precariously on the edge of his desk: a wizard accidentally apparating between two feuding vampires, a thief from Knockturn Alley stealing a family watch, a creature trafficking wing in the western magical district of Greater London, an incident with a blast-ended skrewt ending up in....He shot up, wide-awake in seconds. _A creature trafficking ring_ _._   IN LONDON!It was unheard of since the end of the war, the organised gangs of criminals faded into the brickwork and those that did operate only worked a comfortable distance from London, the hub of the legislative and executive branches of the Ministry.Harry grinned and looked down at the stack on his desk as he strode out, glad that for once he’d been given the new case files before the other captains. This promised to be a very exciting case, more so than the majority of those that came his way.In addition, if he got this case he could dump the administrative work from his last few on the office secretary with the excuse that he was ‘needed elsewhere’. 

“Better run to Dawlish if you want to get this raid, before the rest of the department turns up to claim it.”

...

A few hours later and he was bored out of his mind. He crouched next to Ron, in a tiny alleyway opposite a large factory, the location of the reprehensible creature smuggling ring.

His skin was slightly damp from the lingering adrenaline and his magic zipped over his skin, raising hairs and nearly forcing a shiver out of him every time someone passed close enough to discover them.After all, disillusionment spells were hardly foolproof when any idiot could recognise a magical signature.His sweat was starting to cool, forming an uncomfortable layer on his skin, his heartbeat calming when he realised nothing was going to happen.

It was silent. Of course. He’d also have encased the building with strong silencing charms if he was embarking upon something untoward. He could feel the barrier they’d created: the nothingness which pulled the sound waves into a vacuum with no hope of escape.

Ever since his seventeenth birthday and the magical majority that had come with it, he’d discovered his propensity towards sensing magic – not just visual charms, like Lumos, but also more subtle curses and wards. Wards, even the weaker, temporary ones like protego, had a strong, steady aura that resonated with the earth, pulling from the natural energy deep within the ground to strengthen the inherent magic that formed the ward or shield. Curses felt darker than any other kind of magic, tinged with the pungent odour of sulphur or ozone and silencing spells, each and every kind, had a vacuum-like feel to them, seeking to suck everything around them into an empty abyss.

...

Bringing himself back to focus on the old factory, Harry sighed in annoyance. “Now we wait."

Ron merely nodded. He was too used to Harry’s aggravation to react – in fact, he’d been starting to worry when it didn't rear its head the moment they’d popped into the tiny alley.Even now Harry’s hand was tapping lightly against his finely woven trousers, the red Auror robes being abandoned for the sake of this mission in favour of a more discreet dark blue that almost appeared black, with swirls of colour swimming across the tailored fabric.

Just as he was about to step away from the opening and let Ron take his turn watching the entrance a figure appeared with a loud pop in an alleyway not far from the one they were hiding in.

“Apparition ten metres to the left,” Harry whispered into a charmed button which relayed every noise it heard back to his team. 

Harry watched as the man quickly shuffled forward, raising his hand to check that his hood was still in place then sticking it in the pocket of his robe.

The dark-haired man glanced furtively to the side and halted by one of the side doors to the building. From within his robe he retrieved a gold Galleon. Harry’s eyes opened wide, he could almost taste the magic emanating from the coin, even at this distance. It was definitely not your typical run-of-the-mill piece. The usual goblin imbued magic was absent, the sharp flavour of steal and protection that prevented Wizarding coins from being reforged or damaged was missing, not even a lingering trace to indicate it had ever been there.Harry could only conclude it was a fake, a good one, but humans couldn’t replicate the sensation of goblin magic or emulate their ruthless protection of gold.Even from this far away he could tell that the magic wrapped around this coin was intended to cause harm. It slithered around the wrist of the wizard like a vow, constricting his magic and preventing him from speaking a word about anything he saw or heard. Underneath the sharpness that ensured his silence, there was a complex pattern, as recognisable and unique as a signature, part of a whole that would perfectly fit with its partner. 

The wards stretched feelers out as the man approached an unassuming door, latching onto and fitting around the broken magic of the coin, parting for the wizard who held it like a wall of water diverging before an obstruction.Harry squinted as he stretched a tiny tendril of his magic out to brush against the magic in the coin.Whoever had invented it had clearly been a genius: subtly stored inside the coin was a unique magical signature, a key, that the wards recognised and allowed entrance to.

It unnerved Harry, even with his ability to sense magic and the lessons Bill had put him through he didn’t think he’d be able to reproduce that signature. It took more than just a thorough understanding of magic to create a masterpiece like that.

Harry turned to Ron. “Change of plan, security’s too good to be fooled by a diversion so I’m going to have to make a copy of that coin and pretend to enter as a customer. When I’ve found enough evidence to bring these people up on charges I’ll flare my magic several times in the pattern we’ve trained with and you’ll bring in the cavalry. If I’m in trouble I’ll flare my magic twice to call for help. Got it?”

Ron patted Harry on the back, “Blimey mate, that plan’s almost Slytherin. Me and the team will be ready to fish you out if those slimy snake tactics go awry.”

Harry laughed, “I don’t know why you insist you hate the Slytherins, it’s only yourself you’re fooling. Pass me the pensieve will you?”

Ron grumbled good-naturedly but reached into his pocket to pull out the mini pensieve all Auror teams carried with them. An advance like that had only been made possible after the war, when enough rare magical heirlooms had been seized from convicted death eaters to allow the Unspeakables a chance to study them. Harry himself had been given the opportunity to prod some of those very same heirlooms when the Department of Mysteries had “borrowed him” during his Auror training: attempting to claim that they were only “teaching inter-departmental cooperation,” while making use of his ability to sense magic. To this day his vow of silence bound him, but that didn’t stop him putting some of the tricks he’d learnt into play at times, like now.He studied the coin in his memory, making use of the occlumency he’d finally got the hang of and carefully changing a conjured metal square, and keeping an eye on the subtle differences between a normal galleon he’d observed in the fake. He even managed to reproduce the magic of the vow, altering it only slightly so that instead of targeting him it would bind those near him to silence if they discovered his true reasons for being there.

He turned the coin over in his hand, pleased with how similar it looked and felt to the one the man carried. The only thing he hadn’t managed to copy was the unique magical signature that would give him admittance through the wards, but he’d taken that into account.

...

Harry gave Ron the agreed upon signal to show he was ready and tapped the button twice to start the recording which would later serve as evidence of the illegal activities taking place. He forced his magic to augment the slight metamorphmagus ability he had gained during his majority, grimacing in pain at the unnatural enhancements. “I wish I’d inherited Tonks’ skill. I can hardly change the length of my hair without forcing it and I can tell you that bloody well hurts, but of course Harry Potter is too widely recognised, stupid fame,” He muttered under his breath.

Ron frowned “I can never get over how much you look like Malfoy when you do that mate. I know he’s on our side now, but still.”

Harry glanced at a reflection of himself in a puddle; with his higher cheekbones and dark wavy hair he did indeed look like a pureblood.

“I hate that you’re going in alone, it’s dangerous.”

As Harry made to protest, Ron clasped his wrist and pulled him in for a hug “I know mate, you don’t have to tell me this is the plan with least risk to the rest of us. I’m not just good at chess you know.”

“Just...Just be careful mate.”

Harry squeezed Ron’s wrist, “I’ll try, but you know me, always attracting trouble.” He stepped away and spun on his heel, disapparating from the alley with a loud crack, contained only by the silencing charms.

Ron could only hope that this mission went according to plan. But it had been too long, far too long, since trouble had last visited Harry Potter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry and his friends finally seem to get their lives together, Harry gets a rather troubling case that will throw their lives upside down once again – a creature trafficking ring. And what has this all got to do with Severus Snape?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 and 2 have been re-edited in preparation for a fifth chapter, which will come after the edits of chapters 3 & 4.

A sound, like a car backfiring, echoed through the street, immediately attracting the attention of the 23 year old guard. He’d been sitting quietly in the entranceway of an old factory, a very small entranceway he might add. He’d only recently been fired from his last job, and he was desperate for work (any work would do, really: work meant food and money,) so he’d turned to the smuggling ring. Now he was sat here, bored out of his mind. The last visitor had been several hours ago and there was nothing for him to do.

He was under no delusions – he was dispensable, any sign that he was slacking off and he’d be fired again, with more permanent consequences this time. After all, they couldn’t have people talking about what they’d seen. The only reason he’d been offered the job in the first place was that he had a very weak ability to sense magic. Just enough to taste the magic on the coins and tell them apart from a real galleon. All he needed to do was verify that they had been given one of the coins and pass them on to the next unfortunate sod whose job it was to take them to see the merchandise. They were never meant to see the higher ups. Just in case, they said. It wasn’t worth his life to question them. He didn’t want to end up in the same position as the last guard to work here. 

He stood up and went to peer through the section of the door that was charmed invisible, allowing him to get a good look at who was coming and sound the alarm if necessary. He saw a man, average height, with a snooty look to him. Pureblood definitely: he had the expensive robes, the confident stride and the sharp features. He could taste the strong magic on him, magic that almost screamed predator. It oscillated around him in a miasma of swirling gold and deep pitch, like watching a picture of the night sky zoom through distorted mirrors.It reached out and caressed his magic, filled him with a sense of excitement and awe.  He was dangerously charismatic, the sort of man you’d hang onto every word of and find it impossible to say no to.  He looked (and felt) dangerous but intoxicating, like he imagined the higher ups did. 

At least he didn’t look like he’d stolen the money, like some of those seedy types that came by did, it was bad enough buying a sentient creature, but buying a sentient creature with stolen money! Now that was crossing the line. Well– It would be, if anyone ever listened to him. He sighed, and sighed again. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it, but he needed the money and he couldn’t leave now, well, not without entering permanent retirement anyway, very permanent retirement. He shivered. ‘I think I’ll just continue pretending that I have a very normal job, working for a very normal company with a very normal retirement process.’

Now if only he could convince himself of that.

…

Ron crouched in the alleyway, watching his best friend stride towards the door and couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. Something was going to go wrong. Very wrong. And it would possibly change his best mate’s life. Despite his feelings of impending doom he couldn’t help but admire Harry’s graceful movements. No matter how many times he saw him working with wards, Ron never lost his awe at how easily Harry manipulated the magic. Especially now, as he watched Harry’s left hand twitch just slightly from where it was curled behind his back, subtly altering the wards so that they would allow him to pass without triggering the alarm. The concentration and skill required to manipulate any magic wandless, let alone wards, was phenomenal and well beyond the skill of most masters with years of practice in their field. He was even multitasking, extending his right hand, which held the coin, in an exact mirror of the man they’d watched. Ron was no longer jealous of his friend, the numerous trials they’d gone through while horcrux hunting had seen to that, but he couldn’t help but wonder what his life would have been like if he’d had the very same skills. Still, he worried.

“Be careful, mate,” he whispered softly. “We don’t want to lose you. Me and ‘Mione care a damn lot about you. Hell, even Zabini does. He just hides it better.”

Ron fidgeted, the strain of holding himself in the same awkward crouching position getting to him, and listened to the muffled static of clothes rubbing together that came through the recording device.

He smiled proudly when Harry disappeared through the wards, a smile that came from deep within. Harry was his brother in all but blood, and would never cease to amaze him. He’d tell him that. Sometime later. When they didn’t have people to catch. When the timing was better, and when, no if, Hermione compared his emotional range to a teaspoon.

…

Harry could feel cold droplets of salt-tinged water dripping down his back. He flicked his fingers as his magic came across a knot in the wards. The only way for him to pass was to unravel it, yet, as an experienced ward master, he knew that as soon as he managed to untangle the knot, the release in magical tension would set off the intruder alarms. It was a cunning trick, exploiting your own actions to set off the alarm, but he knew a way around it. His studies with Bill Weasley had shown him that any wards with built-in exceptions had weak points, however cleverly hidden they may be.

He forced his magical presence to expand outwards until it was just a thin membrane covering the ward’s expanse, undetectable next to the power they were giving out. He could feel the solid dome-like structure, anchored to a rune stone hidden deep underground. Its strength was incredible, enhanced, like in so many buildings, by a gemstone anchor, but there were chinks in the armour, every person in the factory was a magical signature the wards had been forced to accept. The magic chained like a caged beast and taught to accept specific signatures, what was one more signature, spread so thin as to blend into the wards. Why would it refuse what felt like part of its own?As his magic sunk into the wards Harry felt them give way, embracing him and his aura.

Harry took a step forward, into the wards, holding the coin in front of him as if it were a flame warding off inferi. He could feel a distinct signature behind the door, not particularly strong, but with the unique markers that indicated a skill in mage sight. He stared confidently ahead, sure that he’d kept up the pretence that it was the coin which allowed him passage, and watched as the door slowly creaked open.

…..

Harry stepped into a dark, dank hallway, unremarkable except for a wooden stool the guard had just vacated. The man himself was peering at him with vague interest. He was young, wearing coarse trousers and a shirt that was worn thin in the sleeves. Unattractive red spots covered his face and his jaw was unevenly dotted with stubble. His walk was slow as he lead Harry down the corridor, dragging his feet wearily behind him, the heavy bags under his eyes attesting to his exhaustion. A dog-eared picture of a young girl with similar colouring and a happy smile was just peeking out of the torn back pocket of his trousers.

Harry sighed internally, he hated having to arrest those who’d gone through the war, it was doubtful this young man had ever attended Hogwarts, he was probably one of the many children who lived in Knockturn alley and couldn’t afford the tuition fees. He would have been exposed to the full horror of the war, without even the very limited protection that Hogwarts had provided. Even after the war, attention had turned to the children at the major magical schools, there were charities and government funds to help them recover. No one cared about the children from Knockturn, who for the most part had little magical potential and even less money. It was hardly a surprise that the majority were turning to crime just to scrounge up the cash to stay alive. This wouldn’t be the first or the last time, but it tore at his soul each and every time. These were children who should have been protected, and now had nowhere else to go.

Harry continued to stride down the corridor behind his escort, glancing sadly at his guide now and then, very carefully manipulating the wards as he walked to add another exception. The verification badges that every Auror carried.

The steps of the guard in front of him slowed as they approached a heavy metal door. There were separate wards here, ones not covered by the coin, but requiring you be within one meter of a registered “helper”. That wasn’t the only defense though, the door itself seemed to have no method of opening from Harry’s side, he could see malignant curses and a layer like oil that repelled magic, even from the other, the size and weight of it must have made it an Herculean task for a human. It would stop most people in their tracks and slow even the strongest of creatures if they attempted to escape. It would also put his Aurors in a very vulnerable position. They’d accounted for the magic involved but not such a physical obstacle. There was no way he could bring them in here: it would be a slaughter!

A thick, dark aura crept from behind the door like sludge as it started to inch open. Harry’s own magic shuddered in disgust and recoiled as it brushed against the magic seeping from the room like pus out of an open wound. There was something vile about the way it clung to and suppressed the very weak magical signature next to it, distorting the area around him with the pervading sense of greed, pain and sadistic intent. As the door painfully slid open, screeching against the dirty iron floor, Harry could see the man who was pulling it. He was emaciated, covered with welts and littered with bruising in various stages of healing. Around his stick thin neck a leather collar rubbed raw against his skin; it had tiny, sharp spikes adhered to the inside that cut into his neck and left thin streams of blood trickling down his body. He wore little else apart from the collar, only a dirty brown rag covered a recent cut on his arm. As the door opened further and the man’s hands came into view Harry could see that they were red and slippery from blood. It seemed that as an added protection the bar used to open the door was thin and slightly sharp, cutting into the man’s hands, tearing them and opening wounds down to the bone every time he pulled. Harry shivered, in his year as an auror he had seen horrible abuses of human rights, but this had to be one of the worst. The guard he was following had his eyes shut and turned away from the door, clearly not wanting to see the horrors perpetrated in this room. For once Harry wished he was a civilian, wished he didn’t have to imprint on his mind everything that he saw here. Harry almost didn’t want to follow the path the leash made as it hung heavily from the collar around the creature’s neck, for he had no doubt that it was a creature, no human could have survived the torture the poor man had been put through, let alone continue to tug at that massive door.

Harry made to raise his hand, desperate to help this poor creature, but he flinched away from Harry, into the arms of his sadistic master, the same monster that was emitting the foul aura he could sense even from behind the door.

The man appeared ordinary, he had the long wavy hair typical in Wizarding society, a small thin nose and cheekbones padded by a layer of fat. He could almost be described as pretty, deceptively so. He was somehow more terrifying for his unremarkable appearance, he was the sort of man you might ask the time of in the street, not someone you’d immediately suspect of crime. Harry thought it would have been better if the man appeared the monster he was. It would make his job easier if all the criminals he caught looked the part. Only the glint of madness in his eyes gave him away.

The man cooed mockingly “look at the good little doggy, keeping his master’s property safe,” his voice abruptly snarled “what have I told you about letting the guests touch you.” Harry almost jumped as the man’s hand collided with the creature’s already battered and bruised face with a loud smack. He felt sick when the creature wretchedly leant into the hand striking him. Harry was struggling to keep up the facade now, it was only his position behind the man that concealed his horror. He watched, struck, as the creature took tentative steps and then collapsed on a pile of rags near the door.

He realised he’d been clenching his fists in the fine fabric of his robes and slowly unfurled them, hoping what he’d recorded so far would be enough, he didn’t want to know what awaited him when he finally saw the room at large.

He was currently standing in a small anteroom, empty save for the pile of rags and a table off to the side. The man turned to him, a sly grin on his face, “ya know there be no weapons past this point, including wands, for the safety of the creatures, you understand.” Harry did understand, it had nothing to do with the creatures and everything to do with stopping him running off with the merchandise. He hated the idea of giving his wand up, especially to this man, but he had no choice. He reluctantly held out his wand. Harry knew he was trapped in this building; his best bet at getting out was to continue as a customer, it didn’t mean he had to like it though. The man accepted his wand with the glee of one who loved holding power over another and stalked towards the door. Harry followed with trepidation as the man cracked it open and gestured for him to go in. He stepped forward, one foot and then the other, until he was over the threshold. Harry only just withheld a cringe as he stared blankly at the sight before his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the next chapter!
> 
> Reviews and constructive criticism are of course welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry and his friends finally seem to get their lives together, Harry gets a rather troubling case that will throw their lives upside down once again – a creature trafficking ring. And what has this all got to do with Severus Snape?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you saw this note before it was edited let me just say technology did not agree and leave it at that.

Cages.

Cages everywhere, stacked upon one another, stretching up to the ceiling, many hovering just slightly off the ground or over their neighbour. Cramped rows of them filled the factory.

Harry stood speechless. A trafficking ring this large, and in the middle of London, was almost unheard of. Scratch that, it was completely unheard of, even at a time when slavery and muggle hunting were still legal.It was certainly the biggest he had ever seen.Not even Voldemort had done this. 

The man, whose name tag read  _Julatos Wilces_ , grinned, obviously taking his stunned expression and speechlessness for surprised excitement at a grander selection of  _beasts_ to choose from than he could ever have imagined.

“Got many, ‘aven’t we,” he spoke nasally, his voice laced with hatred and disgust aimed at the creatures in the cages. “Them more... exotic, dependable ones are here. They’ll form a bond quicker than most of the others, and they are in…  _excellent_ condition.”

Harry looked in the direction the man, Wilces, was pointing. Off to the side, three rows of cages hung by heavy metal chains from the ceiling of the warehouse. They were swinging back and forth, creaking ominously to the tune of the repetitive forwards and backwards motion.

Wilces smirked. “Tha’s an ingenious piece o’ technology, ain’t it. Came up with it myself I did. Keeps them creatures rocking about so they don’t know which way’s up. They go all shaky when you put ‘em back on land, y' know. Good for the clients. Makes ‘em easier ta take back home.”

Wilces grinned proudly, an awful smile that was more of a grimace. “S’all muggle as well, makes it ‘arder to break ‘em out. But I’ll get them down for y' and you’ll have your pick of the lot,” he bared his teeth and performed a grotesque bow, “for the right price of course.”

Harry attempted to smile as Wilces pulled on a big metal lever that had the cages lowering, landing none too softly on the ground.

As the cages thumped down, clouds of dust almost obscuring Harry’s vision, the occupants of some cages turned to stare blankly in his direction. There were all manner of creatures imprisoned here; from where he stood, Harry could see a beautiful Sylph, thin and delicate, collapsed against the side of the bars, staring vacantly at something Harry couldn’t see. To the right of her, Harry could see a cynocephalus. Once a race of proud warrior men with the head and tail of a dog, they were now nearly extinct, very rarely seen even in their native Africa. They had a primal magic, strong and pure, associated entirely with protection. Harry felt his skin prickle with disgust: to reduce one of the last surviving members of such a proud race to this, stripped and wasting away in a cage, it was unnatural. It wasn’t hard to realise that the creatures in this area were mostly human in appearance and all very subdued.  _Too_ subdued. Perfect for the role of prized “pet” or slave.

Wilces licked his lips, the corner of his mouth creeping up malevolently. “These ‘uns have all been drugged, you won’t find  _‘em_ complaining, now will ya.”

Harry got the impression that the healers from St Myrddin’s, the small hospital directly linked to the Auror department, would have a field day trying to unravel the concoction of potions these creatures had been given. Potions that, no doubt, should never have been mixed in the first place.

“...But I got me a feeling you’ll be likin’ this one.”

Harry started, wondering what he’d missed as Wilces tramped down a narrow pathway between two crates. Harry hastily followed, swiftly falling into step with Wilces. They’d nearly reached the end of the row when Wilces abruptly turned, squeezing himself between two cages holding several pixies and a slightly older fairy.

“This ‘ere’s a right ol’ find. ‘t was out cold when we found it but there don’ seem t’ be any damage no more. ‘s not yet trained up properly but I’ll let y' have it now.” Wilces eyed Harry, “An’ between you and me? You’re welcome to come find me any day y' like to…  _talk_.”  Harry was disgusted as the reason behind the special emphasis became clear, carefully covering his derision with measured interest, desperate to get out as soon as possible.

Hoping for a distraction, Harry spun fluidly to look at the cage, getting his first look at its occupant.

....

Glazed obsidian eyes stared up at Harry as the magnificent creature sprawled across the floor registered his presence. The creature’s hair, ebony and streaked with a luminescent silver, was eye catching, but it was the pale blue wings spread behind him that drew Harry’s attention. They were a beautiful shade, with glistening green and golden tips that appeared almost iridescent as the light caught them.

Wilces reaches through the bars and yanked the creature’s hair, pulling him closer to the bars so that Harry could get a good look.

The raven-haired man saw the bobbing of the creature’s Adam’s apple, enshrouded by pale, creamy skin. It strained against the restriction of a heavy metal collar, yet still the Fae looked up at his abuser with a frightened yet admiring look that tugged on Harry’s heartstrings.

Wilces turned the creature to face him, yanking its hair as he did so, and Harry could see thin scratches, almost like claw marks, that decorated his face. “It’s bin here for jus’a bit longer than a year. ‘s one of them Fae creatures, cousins of those damn Veela. One of them idiot smugglers picked it up because ‘e thought it was a Veela and course the higher ups ain’t interested is they? Get into too much trouble with th’ unseelie court for nicking one of their youngsters, so we put it to the side in a nice room and waited for them to come pick it up.”

Wilces angrily yanked the Fae’s hair, “Waited 10 months, I did. Then boss said if they ain’t coming for it I better train it up ‘n sell it. After all, we spent all them times healing it when it first arrived, ‘cos  _they_ don’t like to see their children injured. Damn scary those unseelie are.”

Harry stared, and realised that he hadn’t said anything for the entire duration of his stay. He cleared his throat awkwardly and hoped that Wilces hadn’t noticed. “So h- it,” he winced, “It was injured around the time of the Battle of Hogwarts?”

“Same day it was. We thinks it got injured in the battle some‘ow… but anyway, you fancy it?” Wilces smirked, “Jus’ for you and ‘cos it’s not fully trained I’ll give it you for 20,000.”

Harry watched as the creature stretched one hand towards him desperately, eyes pleading for Harry to get him out of there.

“18,000 Galleons and we have a deal,” Harry replied, certain that whatever the price was – he couldn’t leave this poor creature here, but £100,000 in Muggle money was enough to make him cringe, even with the combined Potter and Black fortune.

Wilces reached out his hand and Harry clasped his wrist, disgusted by the grimy feel of the threadbare fabric and the slimy magic that clung to his hand even as he withdrew it.

“We ‘ave a deal then. Ah’ll go draw up them papers you have to sign, with a blood quill mind you, an’ we’ll set right to the bindin’ ceremony.”

Harry failed to conceal his shock, “Binding ceremony?”

“Well we can’t be havin’em run away or harmin’ their owners now can we, ‘s not all training y' know,” Wilces smiles proudly. “Somethin’ we came up with y' know, ‘s right good it is. Once it’s bound to y’ it won’t be able to leave your presence without your say so an’ it won’t be able to harm you. There’s a few other things but I’ll leave you t’ find them out on y’ own.” He winked mischievously at Harry, who was struggling not to flinch in horror at what  _that man’s_ idea of fun could be.

Wilces pulled a key from a chain around his neck and inserted it into a disillusioned gap above the door handle, his hands shaking slightly as he forced it into the rusted lock. The doorframe shrieked and screamed as the door reluctantly gave way, red-coloured flecks drifting from the seams as the door protestingly opened. The Fae was lying on his front, with his beautiful, dishevelled wings spread behind him and dirt smeared across his nearly naked body. The floor itself was obscured by a layer of muck that was several inches thick and composed of substances Harry had no desire to contemplate the origins of.

He followed Wilces as the man stepped in, muck squelching and crusting on his boot as he pulled it back to kick the Fae lying helplessly on the floor. Harry stared at the impression of a solid boot left in the dirt covered floor, trying to convince himself that the harm caused by the kick would be outweighed by the healing his team could do when they got out. Harry couldn’t do it though. He couldn’t stand by as this fragile creature was defiled by that man’s touch, a man who stank of rot and decay.

Harry clasped Wilces’ shoulder in a firm grip, hard enough to hurt, and angled his magic forward threateningly, his voice carrying a dangerous lilt as he yanked the man back.

“And just what do you think you’re doing touching my property? I’m paying you handsomely and you want to damage it before I’ve even had the pleasure of  _enjoying_ it.” Harry emphasised his point by stroking one hand down the tip of a wing that was resting against the bars. He was hoping that the suggestive action would disguise his true motives. His hand encountered downy soft feathers, ruffled and matted but unmistakably luscious. The Fae shivered under Harry’s touch, turning glassy eyes to him. They were an absorbing shade of black, stealing the light and reflecting only magic, with lines of brown and sky blue woven in like silken threads, all converging towards the centre. With wings like moonlight and eyes a facsimile of the night sky he was entrancing, almost unearthly, yet unspeakably marred by pain and suffering. There was intelligence in those eyes, Harry had no doubt, masked by inhuman conditions, a drug-like haze and an instinctive desire to appease his captor.

Harry stared at the creature, uncaring as Wilces retreated from his anger, “R-right, yes, ah’ll just get things ready for ya,” Wilces claimed, gaining confidence as he bent down over the Fae, pleased with the creature’s forced submission.

....

The click of the leash as it snapped into place, a harsh clunk that signalled dominance and submission all at once, echoed around the massive warehouse that was still too populated. It made Harry wonder whether or not this was truly the best decision. There was no going back now, though. Despite the immutable nature of his actions he still couldn’t help but second-guess himself: could the thick chain, hanging so heavily from such a majestic creature’s neck, ever be worth it? Would it ever be right?

....

Wilces, the bastard, had forced the Fae to crawl, degraded, across the harsh, uneven flooring. Harry couldn’t resist surreptitiously letting his magic reduce the poor creature’s weight, yanked along by the leash as he was. The leather collar left raw red lines around his neck with each harsh tug from Wilces’ cruel hand. It would be so easy for Harry to levitate him,  just  enough so that he wouldn’t have to carry his own weight.

So easy…

Harry watched as the beautiful wings flapping slightly, a reaction to the gentle lifting, as if in recognition of the air gliding through flight-worthy feathers.

They reached the antechamber Harry had entered from, the door swinging shut suddenly behind them with a clang, nearly catching the tips of the majestic wings as the creature trailed behind.

“Ah’ll have that money now if y' don’t mind,” Wilces eyed the moleskin pouch hanging from Harry’s hip greedily, despite knowing that money couldn’t be taken out by any but the vault’s owner. It was enchanted by the goblins, linked specifically to his vault to allow him to withdraw money easily.

Harry held his hand over the pouch, verbalising, “18,000 galleons please,” ready to tip the contents of the pouch into the magically expanded box Wilces had ready. As he offloaded the gold he bemusedly considered the flaw in the Wizengamot’s plan. Bigger transactions were meant to be made through documents, registered at the ministry, which could then be exchanged for cash at Gringotts. For a smuggling ring however, the lure of untraceable money provided by the pouches was too much to resist.

When the cessation of the coin’s jingling signalled the transaction was over, Wilces was already moving on, far too used to this order of business.

He pointed carelessly at the floor next to the still occupied pile of rags, crouching down stiffly as the Fae lay at his feet obediently. He ran his wand over the creature, close enough to draw goosebumps, and then tapped it roughly against a thick file lying on the desk in front of him. Harry could only watch astounded as the heavy book bound in animal hide thunked open, the previously empty page filling quickly with a thin swirling script documenting their transaction. Harry sorely wished the Aurors had something like this in their office. It always surprised him how far a little bit of magic went to making life a lot easier.

....

Finished with his task, Wilces held his hand over a draw and caught the roll of bound parchment that jumped out and into his hand. It was a contract scrawled on thick paper, suspiciously rust coloured ink setting out the terms of his ownership of the Fae. “We ‘ave one for each of ‘em, drawn up ‘ere in their own blood, binds ‘em to it more readily, you see, or the ritual mightn’t take.” Wilces roughly put the contract down on the ratty desk in front of Harry and handed him a shiny, beetle-black quill to write with. Its vile magic crawled on Harry’s skin and he felt as though he was moving his arm through sticky molasses. He signed quickly, without flair, wincing sharply at the bite of the quill as it seared the words into his hand. He was anxious to be done, desperate to get back to his team and to safety with this poor creature in tow.

The quill’s tip had barely left the page when the contract was snatched from him and his signature examined, the blood glinting a blazing incarnadine on the coarse parchment. “Good, good… ‘s all set here, step inta this circle ‘ere an’ stand at the centre, on the cross.”

Harry started to do just that, but was held back by the other’s voice calling him: “Oh- but take them boots off first, ‘s one of them traditional rituals you know, y’ can clean yer feet after,” Wilces grumbled in a low tone, clearly unhappy with the reminder that Harry would be leaving soon.

As he removed his shoes, Harry eyed the pentagram with interest: noting the slight furrows between each rune, connecting all to the deeper gutter-like trench that ringed it. The ritual circle was carved into the stone flooring, clearly meant to be a permanent feature, and was layered with thousands of tiny runes. The intricacy and detail would have been startling to Harry if he hadn’t already seen some of the smuggling ring’s other inventions. It may have been Wilces and his friends who came up with the idea, but it certainly wasn’t his work behind the arithmancy calculations required to design a new spell or ritual, and it  _definitely_ wasn’t his wand that had finely carved the runes into the chiseled stone. Harry couldn’t help his desire to run his hands over the indents, define the individual meanings of each rune and how they changed when put together.

Harry had been distracted long enough for him to not notice that Wilces had grabbed the Fae’s collar, using it as leverage to yank him none too gently from where he was lying into a kneeling position opposite to where Harry was standing.

....

The unmistakable rasp of a knife being drawn from its sheath terrified Harry, and he was afraid deathly afraid for a moment that his true motives had been uncovered. Therefore, when all Wilces withdrew was a thin ritual knife, he sighed with relief; only to gasp in horror as, in one swift, cruel movement, the knife cut cleanly across the Fae’s wrist, crimson blood instantly welling to the surface and seeping down, lining the crevices and coating the runes. As the blood outlined the ritual circle, running through shallow indents to reach even the farthest edges, the runes lit up as their magic filled the air.

Standing, barefoot, in a pool of blood, Harry could feel the magic. Old, wild, natural magic, from the ley lines hidden under the earth and the younger, mischievous but steadfast magic of the Fae. His own magic unconsciously stretched forward, summoned by the blood sacrifice that had commenced the ritual, it reached towards the Fae’s core and wound itself around the royal blue and gold strands of magic, just a shade darker and deeper than the creature’s wings. Harry could feel his magic, lodged behind the Fae’s heart, guided and shaped by the runes and yet, still, possessing that little bit of his own character; taking the given directives and yet fitting them to his own ideas. Harry could do nothing but watch, locked in the grip of his magic, as it came bounding back to him along those same paths it had forged, speaking of ownership, possessiveness and love, comfort and belonging. It was an indescribable knowledge, a kind of homecoming, a timeless bond formed in the grip of a madman. Whatever shape this bond would take, Harry found it hard to believe that he could abandon this creature in the hands of the Aurors when he left.

It was a bond of subjugation made to fit the personality of the master. Harry could see why this smuggling ring was so popular. It was only his own personality that tempered the pain the bond could cause, if borne of malice.

As the glow of the ritual subsided, Harry heard Wilces, clapping and laughing uproariously at the stunned look on Harry’s face. “I’s addictive that feeling, ain’t it, some folks kill theirs jus’ to have another go at it, an’ you won’t hear me complainin’ if you go down the same route.”

The callous words, contrasting harshly with the  _almost_ pleasant tone, brought Harry back to himself. He glanced down, glad that the ritual had healed the deep cuts in the Fae’s wrists, leaving only very thin white lines to mark his sallow, pale skin. The poor creature ( _his_ poor creature, Harry’s brain inserted possessively) looked completely out of it, with pupils blown wide and a dazed, uncomprehending expression on his face. He clearly needed to get out of here, give himself and the other time to think, and understand. Not to mention that they still needed to clear the potions from the Fae’s system and heal him. It would be a while yet before the Aurors could get any information out of him and even longer before he’d be fully recovered.

Harry’s rather obvious glance at the door was hint enough for Wilces, as he kicked Harry’s shoes back to him, withdrawing a wand from the desk. Harry could only watch as Wilces spun Harry’s wand in his hand, caressing it lovingly and leaving behind smears of dirty magic everywhere he touched. “Jus’ you remember, I’ll be waiting if you wanna pay this handsome chap a special little visit.”

Wilces reluctantly handed the wand over and withdrew something from his pocket. “This here is the coin we give our regulars, so that whoever’s guardin’ will know who’s who, can’t expect them to have seen y' before now can we?”

Wilces grinned, reminiscing, “Ain’t never last long those guards, I ‘ope I get this one, ‘s been ages since I had some  _fun_.”  Harry nearly recoiled in disgust but remembered himself long enough to attempt a smile as he reached out and clasped Julatos Wilces’ wrist. “While it  _has_ been fascinating, I think it’s time to escort me and the creature out now,” Harry told the older man, carefully lacing his voice with satisfaction and impatience.  And I hope I never  ever  have to see you again.

As he reached out a hand to take the coin he nearly halted, aghast, at a realisation. The coin. It held the same magic as the previous one. As soon as he touched it, the magic would bind him to painful silence. He spread his own magic widely in a cocoon around his body, the effect like a coil of rope ( _or perhaps a snake, his mind added unhelpfully_ ) constricting around him, being held away entirely by the strength in his arms, until he no longer had the fortitude to resist, and it snapped tight against his body, binding him.

Hoping that the high from the ritual would disguise the strain of holding the magic off, preventing it from latching on, he attempted to smile as the coin plopped heavily in his hand, suddenly weighing so much more than its size. The outstretched hand, clearly looking for something in return surprised Harry, as he tried to remember what he might have that this awful man would want. With dawning horror it occurred to Harry, that blasted coin again, he was supposed to return the old one. The old one that he didn’t have. A mere transfiguration wouldn’t stand up to this man.

He thought, desperately, of the man at the door, the young guard, his far too young face having seem far too much. His words, Harry knew, would seal the other’s fate. There would be no returning from this, no second chances. “The person who met me at the door, he never gave it back, accidentally walked away with it I think.” He cringed at the snarl of this man, this terror, and the sad fate he had brought upon someone so young.

“Looks like ah’ll be getting a little fun some time soon,” Julatos Wilces laughed maliciously, withdrawing his hand.

....

As Harry stalked Wilces down that hallowed corridor, he wished he could withdraw his own knife, concealed at his thigh. One glance, only one, at the guard, sitting in his familiar place, on that same wooden stool, before he stepped out, looking at the young face, the guard who had done nothing wrong, one more face imprinted in his mind to join the many that faced him in his nightmares. That decision, those few seconds, would haunt him, he knew.

A beautiful Fae, still dizzy and weak, followed him dutifully into the half-remembered light. It tore at Harry’s soul to leave all those others behind, but he’d be back, oh, he’d definitely be back, and then that awful man would get what he’d deserve. In the meantime he’d been able to rescue at least one of them, but the price, oh, the price….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really hope you’ve enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> Just a small teaser:
> 
> “The combination of fledgling creature instincts, potent drugs and occlumency shielding is nothing to be trifled at Mister Potter, it’s hardly a surprise that he wasn’t acting as you expected,” the ministry’s potioneer tutted condescendingly at Harry, turning back to the blood sample he was analysing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry and his friends finally seem to get their lives together, Harry gets a rather troubling case that will throw their lives upside down once again – a creature trafficking ring. And what has this all got to do with Severus Snape?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, all the chapters have been edited, although 4 less thoroughly than the others so as per usual if you spot a mistake please, please don’t hesitate to mention it in a review. Also, what are we thinking about the chapter lengths? Is 3,000 words about right? Thank you everyone for the reviews, they are most appreciated.
> 
> Can you believe it! We’ve hit the 10,000 mark. 10,000 words!!!
> 
> Chapter 5 and 6 have been planned and are coming along nicely but we do have a life outside this so I don’t know when there will be an update, but it will hopefully be soon, it’s the beginning of October now so if you’re reading this in December and there’s still no chapter 5 feel free to send a reminder in the reviews. For those of you at school I hope you have a good school year and those at work, you’ll get a break in December (hopefully) it’s not too long now!

“What made you change the plan mate?” 

Were the first words Harry heard upon apparating into the alley, blue eyes scanningworriedly for injuries. Closely followed by, “Blimey, what happened to him, he looks a right mess” as Ron gestured inarticulately at the Fae swaying by Harry’s side.  

Harry gave no response as sweat beaded on his brow, the effort required to hold off the vow which was even now weaving slimy tendrils into his magic, was immense.  Natural magic much like nature ran in cycles of creation and destruction, life-like in its birth and then death. As magic grew in an infant so too was it released upon their death.  The magic of the world fluctuated with the seasons, giving birth to the different pure blood celebrations, the festivals and the feasts of Samhain and Beltane and countless others. As it fluctuates through the year and through a life so too does it change through the centuries, giving rise to great magical feats and periods of stagnation as it waxes and wanes.  A vow, even a bastardised one attached to a coin, pulled on the natural well of magic within the earth, guided by the caster’s will and slivers of their own magic. Even at the height of wizard’s power, the golden age of Myrddin and Arthur, the magic of nature still eclipsed that of the sorcerers by far. Even Harry, with his great control, knew of only one way to avoid a vow.  A constant source of magic had to be offered, to feed and deceive, until the vow grasped hold with a vice-like grip its perceived target.

Harry could, with the aid of Hermione and the unspeakables, break the threads of oily magic directing the vow, allowing the natural magic to dissipate back into the surroundings, but that would take time and very intricate work.  

As it stood, he didn’t have that time, it took a great deal of concentration to hold off the vow’s grasping clutch, not to mention a significant dose of power which he didn’t have spare at the moment.  Magical power in a wizard really has two different aspects: the potency and the well of magic available. In society they were often considered the same thing, only important when considering young magicals who had yet to come into maturity.  The potency of magic was predetermined from birth and a strong potency was almost always married with a deep well from which to draw from (when a wizard reached adulthood - the time when a their magical core expands), allowing them to hold more magic in their core.  Potency was used to determine future magical potential and was the method by which witches and wizards were separated from hedge magicals and squibs. Harry’s own magic as a child was incredibly potent, more so even than Dumbledore or Voldemort, destining him for a life of incredible magical power.  Something though, perhaps his foray into death or the removal of the horcrux, had damaged his core during the final battle. When the unspeakables examined him they pronounced that he would never come into magical maturity, leaving him with the output and immature magic of a child.

He was far from the only person they had seen with a similar problem, Voldemort had resigned his death eaters to a similar fate.  For as long as the dark mark stained their skin it would sap their magic and feed it to Voldemort, while also preventing their inheritance: be that magical or creature (it was assumed so that none could become more powerful than him).  This was what made it so hard for many to believe the death eaters had taken the mark willingly during the first war.

A similar problem is seen in children who make very strong vows before their maturity, since the vow constrains the magic of the participants - I.e. it was unable to grow.  One of the many reasons why making an unbreakable vow with a child carried a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.

The public still had yet to find out about the damage to Harry’s magical core and hailed him the most powerful wizard of their time.  It was true that his aura was by far the strongest of this age but his magical output was barely more than a very powerful child. He was just lucky that a person’s magical aura was only an expression of the potency of their magic.  His ability to cast very powerful spells kept up the illusion, even if he couldn’t cast many at once. He’d got by through an unprecedented control of his magic which allowed him to perform amazing feats with only a little magical energy. It was still one of his significant weaknesses however, and something he intended to keep quiet for as long as possible, with only his friends and the unspeakables knowing.  

A slight tug on his magic brought him out of his thoughts to the fae by his side curiously prodding their bond.  He remembered his previous hurry: “Ron, the coin Wilces mentioned, it has the vow attached. Very soon I’ll be unable to speak of anything I saw there.  Don’t send in more people, they have physical as well as magical defences: a door too heavy to move by human hand enchanted against magic and cages that hang from the roof which must also be lowered by hand.”  As Harry spoke the strain from the vow increased as the magic sensed his intentions. His hand started to shake and the fae by his side trembled unsteadily in the air as Harry tried to lower him to the ground, no longer able to keep him hovering.  Ron thankfully sensed his faltering magic and extended his wand in the levitation spell.

Harry managed only one more sentence, gesturing to the fae, “protect him.”

Excruciating pain lanced through Harry as the binding magic snapped into place, the almost sentient vow punishing him for what he had already revealed.  

....

Ron caught Harry as his friend started to fall, his thin frame shaking and his face twisting grotesquely in pain.  His mate was heavier now, having filled out since his time with the Dursley’s, but his weight was still below average.  

Ron wasn’t sure what he thought of his friend buying a magical slave, even if only to protect them, but the creature was clearly worried about Harry, and he did need someone to look after him.  Owning a magical creature wasn’t even illegal in the wizarding world, only the enslaving and reselling of creatures was illegal. The irony of course being that the bond wouldn’t acknowledge a transfer without payment, so legally Harry would be unable to pass the creature on, not that Harry was likely to know that.  

Ron may not be the brightest tool in the box but he knew he had an advantage over Harry and Hermione.  Harry may have started looking for more information about society after he lost an inheritance he never knew he would get, and Hermione may be a complete bookworm, much as he loved her, but Ron still had the advantage of growing up in the magical culture.  It reminded him of Harry’s explanation for his adoption of the pagan religion and festivals traditionally celebrated by pure bloods: “we may only take one step forward but when your foot touches the paving of Diagon Alley it’s like entering another country. I can’t expect the magicals to change their own ways and conform to my beliefs, so instead, as the newcomer, I will learn theirs: just as a foreigner would have to in any other country to be accepted.”

Ron knew that his friend was good at public speaking, when he truly believed in a cause, and that with the influence his status as a hero provided he could improve the magical world.  He only needed a little push, something which Ron hoped this case would provide, to make a massive difference. Now all he needed was to get better.

“Seamus, Dean, Angus, a little help over here would be appreciated.  I’ve keyed the apparition coordinates into one of the bands, apparate blind and it will direct you over to here.”  

The crackle of a response came through the recording device attached to Ron’s collar: “just one flick of a doxy’s wings and we’ll be right there”.  

Ron sighed.  While it was a common misconception that the Auror force taught people to apparate with coordinates it had long been realised that the human brain was incapable of automatically calculating a jump exclusively from coordinates.  Instead, the unspeakables has created bands that could turn coordinates into a magical direction that could be followed while apparating blind. They were even set up to automatically direct blind apparition without coordinates to a special protected section of the Auror department, which meant that Auror’s could apparate to safety, without a preplanned destination, even if they were in too much pain to concentrate.  

A series of muted cracks heralded the arrival of the rest of Ron’s teammates.  

“What’s happened to our dear leader over there?” Seamus wondered as he took in Harry slumped against Ron’s shoulder.  

“You heard everything he said?” Ron queried, “it appears he was bound to a vow of secrecy which punished him rather harshly for the little he managed to reveal before giving in.”

“Of course  _it_ doesn’t know we were listening in the whole time,” Dean sniggered, far too used to the sight of their team leader unconscious.  

The slightly hiccuping cry of the fae as he tried to suppress his tears turned all attention away from Harry.  “And what have we here? Harry didn’t mention he’d found such a beauty.”

Ron interrupted, “as nice as this little chat is, don’t you think we should get back to headquarters, or even the Burrow, for goodness sake Harry’s home would do, let’s just get out of here and discuss our next plan of action.”

Ron hefted Harry into Seamus’ arms, resting a hand on the fae’s scrawny shoulder and popping back to their meeting room in Auror Headquarters.  

....

The rest of the Auror team sat around an over-large table, 10 seats along and two down, as they listened to a replay of Harry’s conversations and the vital information he’d imparted to Ron.  

Harry himself had been ungracefully plonked on a couch at the end of the conference room (only after a checkover with the medi-witch of course) and the fae had stayed with him, curled up at Harry’s feet as the poor creature slept.

The main problem for the Aurors was that they couldn’t get any feedback from Harry about what he had seen, which would make planning an arrest tricky.  The other question, one running through all of their heads, was what to do with the fae. A question that they unilaterally deferred until Harry woke up.  The fae slept on, unaware of the decisions, or lack thereof, they made without his knowledge.

....

He was flying, wind whistling through his wings and ruffling his feathers, tears streaming from his eyes as he laughed, hysterical.  Trees reached out to him with gnarled branches twisted like candy canes, a strange metallic grey, and liquid mercury, shining silver, fell to the ground, turning red, incarnadine, as it reached a floor of dirt and grime.  The lake spoke to him then, appearing from the sand. The square of trees, suddenly higher and higher and he lower and lower, surrounded him. He tried to listen, tried to keep drifting, closing his eyes tightly as the world started to fade, murkily, into the darkness.  He was aware now of the ache of his legs, of his eyes, of the voices, screaming. So loud, so very loud. He was aware of his wings, shifting uneasily, of his arm, starting to tingle and prickle as he shifted it, of his… of his… wings? His thoughts muddied as he started to drift off again; maybe if he had wings he would be able to fly from the strange man with the narrow boots.  Or maybe the orange octopus who caught the safe purple one, or was it yellow? It was better to listen and do what he was told, that’s what the strange man said. Or maybe it was misty and red, or maybe…. He found it very hard to listen, everything was all cloudy, all fuzzy, and what was he saying again? Maybe the safe blue one would tell him and the fuzzy marbles, no nargles, that flew from the safe one and sat in his insides and did strange fluttery things would… would...  Maybe the world would decide whether it wanted to be all topsy turvey rather than just upside down, or was it sideways, he didn’t know anymore. It was rather hard to think you know, he mumbled and thought and talked and walked. He knew he had eyes in his nose and feet in his head, but every time he tried to think it all got more confusing, so he closed his eyes, the he that is me, yes, I closed my eyes and I drifted and drifted.

....

Harry awoke, his eyes tightly shut against the light, his mind going from nought to 100 as suddenly as a lumos flickering into being.  Sleep was strange, he found, an endless nothingness until suddenly there was something and you awaken, quite aware that you’d been sleeping but with your mind going a mile a minute and racing, disparaging sleep.  Or, as he found more often, the mind drifted into consciousness, imagining a world and watching a story as it plays out, unable and unwilling to change it, until you become aware that you are aware, as thoughts flitter through your mind, fleeting, but distracting, until you can no longer remember the wonderous world you’d immersed yourself in.  

Harry loved dreams.  He loved the ephemeral nature and the blissful, addictive flow.  Even nightmares were enchanting, waking with a racing heart but knowing why, that was beloved, but waking with a jitter in your hands and a blank mind, that was terrifying.    **Then**   his mind was free to elaborate on the unknown with could have beens, would have beens, might have beens, things that still yet might come to pass.  It was awake, Harry found, that his mind was his own worst enemy, for nothing could bother his mind, drifting on a cloud, when he slept. Waking was a time of action, reaction, thoughts and memories; when his mind just wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t calm, like water in a waterfall crashing down, a constant movement, a nervous energy.  

The tickle of feathers against his wrist was light, but present, and he wished it wasn’t, he wished he could fall back down the eternal well of dreams. He wished he couldn’t feel the hair his hand was tangled in, hear the murmur of voices, touch the slightly pointed ears. Dreams allowed him to cast off from the sand and float, little rippling currents marking his passage, a smooth triangle cut in the water and wavelets that faded away inconsequentially.  Real life had consequences, and dreams were the boats that took you away when it became too much. Sweet oblivion.

His eyes opened, Harry could see as the world came into focus (well, as clear as it ever got for him) the outline of a form resting against his couch and a collection of bodies sitting around a long table.  The recognition was more than instant, he knew this room as well as he knew his own home, and better still. Long hours toiling away, under his captain, and then under his own command had taught him to recognise this room and all it stood for.  

“Oi, over there, pass me my glasses will you.”  He called, interrupting the figures as blurry sticks of red turned in his direction.  

“You okay there mate?” Came a voice, recognisably Ron’s, “there’s not much you can actually do to help at the moment I’d say, so you might as well go home and take that one,” jerking a thumb at the insensate creature beside him, “with you.  We can’t get a specialist out until Friday so ‘till then you’re on your own I suppose, other than me and the team of course.  We think he’s conscious some of the time but he’s clearly not right in the head because whatever he’s mumbling is just that, mumbo jumbo.”  

“More like nonsense for those of us that speak English,” Dean pointed out mock seriously, grinning as they all laughed.  

Back to sleep, that’s what he should have done, none of this nonsense to deal with indeed.  Nonetheless he pulled himself into a sitting position and heaved his legs over the side, landing with a thud.  I wish I was asleep, but as they say, if wishes grew on trees the world would be a very strange place indeed. A lot more magical as well.  He stood up, stepping over the unconscious form, accepting his glasses from Ron. He took another step. And stumbled. “Ron. Something’s not right.  Very not right.”

Ron looked puzzled.  

It was Hermione who provided the answer, bursting into the room and shouting “don’t inhale his breath, there are likely to be remnants of whatever drug he took and if it’s what I think it is, well…”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have left a cliffhanger. Oops. I deny everything. Anyway, apologies for the late update. And, well, that ends my chapter, with some nice insight into Ron and a few radical political (magical politics) beliefs thrown in. I love reading fanfics about magical society and the political system and intrigue (on that note any recommendations?) but I find that the fics that argue that magical society is stagnant and try to introduce more modern practices, like biros and technology, to be completely missing the point.  
> 
> The whole idea of fantasy stories in my opinion is that they are a departure from the real world. This is a magical society, meant as an escape from reality. It doesn’t have to conform to our ideas of modernism and I think if you try to force that on it you’re missing the point. Many of us love to dream about the past. The simplicity of the life, the lack of modern day concerns like the impact of technology on society and global warmin. (On another point, fics that advocate using biros are trying to persuade yet another culture to use disposable plastics, aren’t we supposed to be moving away from that?). Magical lands and stories are like dreams, why would you want reality to intrude on that? I also think that the belief in these fics that magical society is “stagnant” is effectively saying it’s my way or the high way. Why does magical society, separate as it is, have to evolve and change in exactly the same ways as our society? They have new spells invented, new brooms released and so on... 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, apologies for the rant. There are many amazing authors who write stories introducing technology in an ingenious way. I’ve read some of them and although they’re brilliant, that’s just not what I believe in when it comes to Fantasy. Maybe they’re even spreading the joy of reading Harry Potter to people who don’t otherwise enjoy Fantasy. Everyone is after all entitled to their own opinions and this is mine, I just thought I’d mention my reasons for the politics that will (hopefully) later be introduced in this story. 
> 
> Have a good summer holiday (for those who have the pleasure). 
> 
> E

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the slight cliffhanger.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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